


Perspective

by Belle82DevArt



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Holmestice 2018, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Smoking, Suggestive Themes, mentioned drug use, mentions of alcohol use, suggestive acts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 21:27:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17108426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle82DevArt/pseuds/Belle82DevArt
Summary: What is the view of Mr. Holmes from the Spider that is ever looming?





	Perspective

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trobadora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/gifts).



> My contribution for the Holmestice 2018 gift exchange for the lovely @Trobadora! I hope you enjoyed this story, I had so much fun writing it.

_"Tell me, Sherlock, what do you see when you look in the mirror?"_

 

That honeysuckle voice that dripped of venom, sitting so still like water in a glass on a table with no one around but the earthquake miles away that couldn’t unsettle it. His lips, brushing against the other's ear as he spoke and kept those deep pools of blue focused on the pale, tall and slender figure they were possessed to. The owner swallowed thickly, cheekbones that could cut glass dusting with red as the other kept close against his spine to watch the destructive human being speak within his sobering form of drug addiction and cigarettes. He smelled of smoke, recent, it was heavy on his pale skin and with each kiss given to remind the man that the others presence was there. 

 

“Tell me.” He cooed in a hushed tone, a slender finger twirling a dark curl of hair in a tight coil, cold skin causing goosebumps to rise on the taller males skin and sent his back to stiffen. Oh, the delicious tension that had been created in those tightly captivated and bony shoulders that had been gripped and used for support on many drunken nights when work had gotten the better of the spider. Those sultry lips that had spoken beyond the veil of the heroin dragging the taller man slowly down within the hammering throb of a lulled body floating in nothingness. Like a ship on the ocean in the middle of a terrible storm, the short man that smelled of whisky was his light tower.

 

“I see _me_.” “Look beyond that, Holmes. What do you see? What is it that makes that mind of yours click when it meets your eyes in this bloody mirror?”

The taller paused when the lips stopped, forcing him to focus on himself for once. “A detective.” The taller replied within baritone tones that made the other holding him oh so close shiver in that delightful way, same as when his chilled and pale fingers trace him body on nights that he can hardly distinguish from the liquor he drank and the dreams he has that leaves him _aching_ within the wee hours of the morning. 

“Go on.” “That’s all I see.” “You’re not getting the big picture, darling.” The man hummed in a soft manner as he gave another, delicate, rose petal like kiss to the underside of the man's chin, dark eyes looking beyond him and meeting that ocean gaze that kept his eyes within the mirror captivated. “What I see, is a man who believed he was scared of spiders, who believed his fear was born within the depths of his mind early on in his childhood. I see a man who believed he could **crush** a spider when it came waltzing it’s way into his life, because he had been scared of its bite. But when he realizes he never had to fear, for the spider felt but admiration for him, he takes the spider in, and allows it to entangle its web around his savior.”   
“Your point?” The detective questioned with a raised brow in the direction of the shorter male, pools of rolling blue watching those dark, black seeping darkness of brown eyes in return.   
“The man fell in love with the spider, and the spider fell in love in return.”

 

“You believe I’ve fallen for **you**?” The other questioned with amusement within his tone, and the spider gave a chuckle himself, shaking his head and resting in within the gap between the hardened flesh of the males shoulder blades. “I know it.” The other cooed in that venomous, sugar glazed tone that the detective (though never admitting such) had grown quite fond of. “Do elaborate.” The man challenged, and the shorter merely smirked as he turned the other around to face him. “Elaborate?” “Yes, that’s the term after all.” “Don’t make me out to be dumb, Holmes, darling. You know what the _consequences_ of your deductive mind amongst the playground of flirting are.” “Get on with it, Jim.” The taller rarely used his first name, a indication for the shorter to continue his words. The man started with the simplicity that had the other snicker and nearly snort. “Your blush.” “I don’t blush.” “Explain the rose that has decorated those knives for cheekbones, hm? Now, **don’t** interrupt me.” 

 

“You blush at the _simplest_ of gestures, what those of simplistic minds refer to as gestures of love.” He grimaced at such, but continued on no less. “Be it a kiss to the knuckles of your hand or the words whispered among intimate times between us.” “A chemical reaction.” “Love, Sherlock, is a chemical reaction, yes, but it’s one that you sadly must experience even among the likes of myself. A spider.” “You say must as if I have to love you.” “Don’t you?” “What reason have you given me to say that I indeed do?” 

 

The shorter frowned at such, a pout taking to his lips in that of a childlike manner despite his adulthood. He poked at the taller mans bare chest, blemished with toned muscles beneath soft skin and traced said digit along each divot and curve that made the detective shiver with a nip to his lip. Oh how the spider loved nipping at such flesh when the two laid amongst tangled sheets, intertwined in a drunken haze and sobering from the lust driven movements interchanged with one dominating the situation and shifting power to the other. Like two alphas in a wolves den, they roughed around until one finally submitted and whimpered out until the other was left shaking and panting, calling the name of that who flooded his system with liquid ecstasy.   
“Because I’m the one you felt obligated to bring home like a lost puppy when I had that gun in my mouth. You’re the one who begged me to keep you talking when you slipped with a needle. Darling Sherlock, you’ve needed me since you laid eyes on me.” A moment passed between the two, eyes watching the other before those thin, gentle lips pushed against the criminals to silence him. A clash of teeth and tongues, and the two were held so close to each other the scenes of smoke and whiskey clashing in the back of a bar room was overwhelming. Multiplied by warm bodies being so close, they couldn’t breath, couldn’t get beyond the flood of senses until one had finally backed away for air and took a soft gasp in to calm his hammering heart. The detective deflected his swirling pools of salty ocean water, the criminals smirk making his heart hammer further and the trailing hand meeting his rear with a soft squeeze.

 

“Tell me, Jim.” “Tell you what, Holmes?” “Tell me I’m not just your side piece for the taking.” “Oddly sentimental.” The criminal remarked before the taller placed his warm hands on the others shoulders, looking those dark eyes directly center with vast fields of blue. “Tell me.” “I love you, Holmes. Is that what you need to hear?”

_“Yes.”_


End file.
